The tunnel swallowed them whole, an endless throat of damp concrete and corroded metal. Water dripped from unseen cracks, forming dark puddles that rippled as they stepped through. The sound echoed strangely, stretching longer than it should have, as if something else was moving just beyond the edge of their senses.
Sol's breath came quick and shallow. His ribs still ached, his body stiff from days of strain. Each step sent a dull throb through his limbs, a reminder of just how much his body had endured. His fingers flexed restlessly at his sides, brushing the strap of his bag, as if holding onto something tangible could anchor him in the oppressive blackness. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, a rhythmic drumbeat against the eerie silence. Could it hear him too?
He forced himself to focus. Breathe. Keep moving. Ignore the cold sweat trickling down your spine.
Gru walked ahead, his short legs making almost no sound. The goblin moved with the careful ease of someone who knew these tunnels too well—like a man stepping between graves. He hadn't spoken since the door shut behind them, his usual grumbles replaced by an unsettling stillness.
That silence gnawed at Sol's nerves.
Then—a sound.
A whisper of movement. Too far away to be their own. Too slow to be an echo.
Sol stopped cold.
The air thickened, pressing down on his lungs like an unseen weight. The darkness around them wasn't just absence—it was presence, watching, waiting. His skin prickled, his instincts screaming at him to turn back. His ACE System silently fed him environmental data, yet something wasn't adding up. The sound had been real, but the system registered nothing.
No life signs. No movement. No heat signature.
Then what the hell was that sound?
Gru tensed, his ears twitching. His hand hovered near his belt, fingers grazing the hilt of a concealed blade. He knew.
A soft knock.
Three deliberate taps on metal.
Sol's pulse spiked. He held his breath, his body locking in place.
The darkness ahead was a dense void where the dim light refused to settle. His ACE System remained silent, its data a void of uncertainty. He had no way to measure what he couldn't see.
Gru didn't turn his head. Didn't blink. His breathing remained steady, but Sol saw the shift—the slight flex of his fingers, the quiet rigidity in his stance.
The goblin was afraid.
And that terrified Sol more than anything.
They stood there for an agonizing moment, listening. The slow drip of water, the muffled creaks of unseen pipes, the restless hum of Sol's own racing thoughts.
Then, something shifted.
Not a footstep. Not even a rustle. Just a faint pressure, like the tunnel itself had inhaled.
And then—nothing.
Gru exhaled first. A controlled, measured breath. His fingers uncurled from the knife hilt, but he didn't look at Sol.
"Never turn around. Never acknowledge it," Gru whispered. His voice was a low rasp, rough with something Sol didn't recognize—superstition, maybe? Or something worse.
Sol's throat tightened. He wanted to ask what the hell that meant, but the air in the tunnel felt heavier now, like even speaking would be a sin.
The tunnel twisted unnaturally, like the path was bending in ways that didn't make sense. Sol felt it in his gut—a deep, gnawing wrongness, as if they were walking in circles despite following a straight line. His steps felt longer, the walls seemed to lean in closer, and the farther they went, the more the space behind them stretched, like it wanted to keep them here.
They moved forward again, their steps slower, more deliberate. The sound of their footsteps felt too loud in the silence, like they were disturbing something long at rest.
Sol's fingers twitched near his interface, resisting the urge to scan again. He didn't want to see what the system might—or might not—detect.
His thoughts raced. The logical part of his brain wanted to rationalize what was happening, but nothing about this felt logical. The tunnel was old, sure, but it wasn't abandoned. People used it. Then why did it feel like stepping into a place forgotten by time?
As they neared what Gru assured was the exit, Sol clenched his fists, steadying himself. His mind was reeling, but he needed to keep it together. Breathe. Focus.
He wasn't going to let whatever this was get into his head.
Behind them, the tunnel stretched on into black nothingness.
And something in that darkness was still listening.
As they slowly approached, they finally saw a light source other than the faint ball of light Gru carried. Sol had never been happier to see light in his life. The sight of it sent a rush of relief through his chest, yet his hands still trembled, his skin still cold with lingering fear.
As they stepped out, Sol dropped to the ground, breathing hard, sweat clinging to his skin in a clammy film. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, then turned to Gru, voice hoarse. "What the hell was that?"
Gru just stared at him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a slow shake of his head, he muttered, "The things in the dark are better left unknown."
A shiver ran down Sol's spine. Was that a warning? A fact? He didn't know which was worse. He clenched his jaw, trying to shove the gnawing dread to the back of his mind. He wanted—no, needed—to leave this godforsaken planet as soon as possible. The weight of everything—the gangs, DreamCorp, now whatever the hell that was in the tunnel—pressed down on him like an iron chain. He had barely made it this far, and yet it felt like the universe itself was trying to drag him back into the dark. Just thinking about the tunnel again made his skin crawl. He exhaled sharply, wiping the cold sweat from his brow. One day. Just one more day and he'd be gone from this nightmare. He wasn't going to let anything stop him now.
Was that thing in the tunnel even alive? Or was it something else entirely?